Old Hickory's Ghost
by jhm.59
Summary: Colonel Tavington awakens after the battle of Cowpens and has taken the form of a ghost, not yet ready for Paradise or Damnation. But can one such as he reconcile with himself and his deeds? Rated M. I OWN NO ONE FROM THE PATRIOT
1. Chapter 1

It couldn't have been long after the incident, two hours at most. Yet he opened his eyes just the same, as if nothing had changed. Quite odd, considering the last thing he could vividly remember was a blinding, suffocating pain in his windpipe. Surely, he had _died_. But there was nothing; no pain, no… _anything_.

Slowly, the man began to move, easing himself from lying on the ground into a reclined sitting position.

"The bloody hell is this about?!" he shouted in surprise; on the ground next to him was… _him_. Clearly, _very_ dead, with two neat bayonet punctures to his vitals.

"Nasty bastard," he murmured, still trying to delay the inevitable onset of confusion. "I was _fucking sober_ when this started so what is this _goddamned madness_?" he snarled, looking around at his surroundings.

Men were still gathering dead and wounded soldiers from the Cowpens battlefield, but none of them appeared to take any notice of the bedraggled Dragoon officer.

"You!" William called to a young man some twenty paces away. "Get over here and help me up!" he ordered.

The man paused and looked straight him, _straight through him_ , and then turned away to continue his work.

"How _dare_ you turn your back on an officer!" William seethed, moving to grab a nearby stone to pelt at the unsuspecting subordinate officer, but couldn't quite get a grasp on the object.

"What… _what is this_?!" He looked down after missing the stone twice to see his hand pass right through the pebble.

"Who's idea of a good joshing was this?!" William hollered! "Blighters, I was _not_ drunk last I left, nor was I _drugged_ -" he swallowed the rest of his raving into disbelieving silence. If he wasn't in Paradise or Eternal Damnation, then _where_ was he? South Carolina most certainly, but to William Tavington, ghost stories were rants and overdone tales shared by men too drunk to believe in anything logical. But then, inebriated follies and lies always hid a smattering of truth in their wake…


	2. Chapter 2

"No…nonononono…." The officer's eyes flitted about, first to the men, dead and wounded around him, and then down at his own form. He was translucent, but there wasn't any indication that other people around him were of anything other than his corpse.

"Son of a bitch," William whirled around to see a Continental soldier approach from nearby. "Death couldn't even mess up your pretty face," he spat on the ground.

Tavington growled and made a lunge at the man, but his hands went right through the soldier's warm, beating heart. The soldier, meanwhile, paused and looked around.

"Eh, not worth it; let Time rot yeh, Lobster-tosh."

"I will have you _burned_ for this!" Tavington seethed, only to have the man walk back through him, unawares.

"Damn," he bent to crouch over his body. He needed to move his remains away, _off_ of the field, but how?

A feeble breeze rolled over the field, rustling the dried grass near the officer's boot. He could barely feel the cold and even then, it was but the _merest_ sensation.

"Load of tosh," he hissed under his breath. Rescuing his corpse from looters or otherwise to stash somewhere safe was useless; Tavington couldn't grip anything and as far as he had learned, no one could hear him, even if he _could_ feel their insides. Luckily enough, he took very little with him into battle, so the looters would find almost nothing; even so, having one's body picked over by dirty-blooded scavengers was less than appealing.

William straightened up and bent over body, feeling through his waistcoat pockets.

"Good, nothing more than a half-pence and a ruddy map." His expression eased. And _if_ the map was found, at this stage of the war, it would be useless.

Another minute of assessing his remains brought little more than nothing aside from the cloth of his coat, and even that would be undesirable with the bullet holes and gauges.

"Bastard hellions… you get _nothing_ ", he snarled before standing to walk. "Fucking Christ-"

To his surprise, William's feet weren't _on_ the ground; he was completely _buried_ up to his ankles in earth.

"Wonderful," with a determined look on his face, William pulled his left foot out of the earth with much more force than was necessary, and tumbled backwards, landing on his back just inches from the ground.

"If I can't be heard _or_ seen, then God, you could at least let me _appear to touch the bloody ground_!" Tavington clenched his fists. "The hell's the point anyway…" he continued to rant. "I suppose that in Hell, they can at least _hear_ you, hm? Is that it, o _Creator_ ; Is Damnation above me, so you've created my own special _prison_?!" His voice rose to a forté and still, no one took notice.

William paused and laughed aloud, his eyes shining with malice.

"I suppose I should be flattered. "I've bested God _and_ the Devil."


	3. Chapter 3

A moment of gloating, however, was quickly worn out, and again, William found himself on the field, amidst the strewn bodies of his fellows, enemies, and _himself_ (still a strange, and unwelcome sensation for the officer).

"Well _good riddance_ , if all I can do is float about. What bloody good use is _that_?" he snapped before quieting, attempting to think of what would be the best way to waste his time, however momentarily because thinking about his current state on a broader perspective was not about to settle well with him just yet.

 _Walk… I'll walk…_ he concluded; Tavington was determined to maintain a sense of his former self.

Cautiously, the Dragoon lifted himself from his dorsal-recumbent position tipping from side to side in midair as he threatened to roll completely over onto his front, still inches from the ground.

"Then _how_?!" he hissed angrily. "I'm a bloody adult! Not some cretin of a child, learning how its feet work, dammit!"

Another moment of cursing and rocking side to side and Tavington finally managed to sit still, hovering just off of the ground for less than ten seconds before rocking sideways once more.

"How…" a look of consternation crossed his features, drawing them tight as he wondered exactly what had caused him to balance so precisely, but a minute's thought gave him no answer and he began rocking once more.

"Stop _that_!" he tensed his body, forcing himself to stay still and again, Tavington hovered, stationary and still.

"Oh, I see…" the colonel murmured, "It's that _easy_ , is it?"

"Want me to grab him?" Col. Tavington's concentration was rudely and abruptly cut short and he slipped sideways as two men approached, less than twenty feet from where his body lay.

"No, he's not going with the others."

" _Martin_ …" his eyes turned cold as he made sense of the outline of the Ghost, Benjamin Martin who had continued to elude and outfox the Dragoon and his men throughout the war, showing himself just long enough to deal Tavington a final run-through to ensure that the Butcher would never achieve his ends. Now, though, his adversary looked anything but heroic. Instead, Martin was covered in sweat and blood, and his face was caked with dirt and soot.

"He'll be buried," Benjamin continued.

"Hell, why?" his companion demanded; he, Tavington recognized, was Dan Scott, and was serving under Martin in the Colonial militia. "The only thing he deserves is to be picked over by the crows."

"No!" Martin growled, putting a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Death must end somewhere."

"With _him_?!" Scott asked aghast.

"Why not?" Martin shrugged. "Get some shovels."

Tavington watched, infuriated as the two men approached his body, removing the bayonet from his windpipe, and lifted him off the ground.

"I will _not_ be indebted to you for this!" he snarled.

Martin paused, looking around, and to the Dragoon's surprise, met his gaze.

"You…" he mouthed.

"Damn, he's heavy," Dan Scott, broke the two from their reverie as he heaved Tavington's upper body in an attempt to get Martin moving. "Coming?"

"I am," he murmured. "Sorry, just memories."

Scott nodded understandingly and replied, "Take your time."

Martin shook his head.

"Naw… let's go. Better to get out of here…"


	4. Chapter 4

Still dumbfounded by Martin's show of gentility, Tavington made to follow the enemy officer and his compatriot, stumbling twice in midair before easing back to a crawling pace behind them.

"God, it's worse than pissing myself…" he mumbled, hopping over a rock before realizing that he couldn't actually _hit_ it.

"So, trip in the air, but can't hit a _blasted_ thing…how in the hell does that work?" the colonel huffed impatiently, standing straight with his arms crossed.

"Oh, and _now_ it's just fine for me to be _upright_ , hm?" Tavington looked up to see that Martin and Dan Scott had progressed toward a nearby patch of treed land and momentarily lost focus in the effort to catch up with the pair.

"I suppose my _request_ of being able to perform more than one task at a time is asking too much of You, then?" his lips curled in disdain, has he swayed in midair, catching himself before he could fall completely sideways. "You! Get back here! Bloody dung-heap; you're _not_ sneaking off with me! _Not_ a chance!" Tavington hollered after the two men, who remained oblivious to his fit; wiser to his predicament, the officer kept up a crawling pace until he caught up with the men just a short ways into the trees.

"You fucking lout!" he grated loudly, pausing to keep his ground.

"Ground here is good," Dan Scott spoke, unaware of the shade.

"No, further in," Martin countered.

"It's more rooted though."

"We're here for a _grave_ , not a cache for the wolves."

"Might as well be," Scott murmured, looking disdainfully at Tavington's corpsified face. "Sir, you know he would burn you if it was the other way around… at least we won't have to look at his eyes." The man shivered.

"Perhaps… but that would be his issue, not mine."

Dan Scott frowned and moved to answer but thought it better to remain silent.

"Oh, the _saint_ ," Tavington spat, staring heatedly at Martin. "If you're doing this for _your_ good conscience, then just _burn me, dammit_!"

"No, I will take no more responsibility for the violence that has been committed!" Benjamin spoke harshly, causing his companion to frown in concern.

"It ruins people… Gabriel, Thomas…"

"That's not your fault," Scott tried.

"It isn't?" Because I did _nothing_ Thomas is dead, and because I _stayed quiet,_ Gabriel lost his boyhood for the life and death of a soldier-" Martin drew off in silence.

"Oh fun…" the Dragoon drawled, "You really are that _pathetically_ tragic, aren't you…. Did it ever occur to you that your sons chose their own paths? Of course, if you do wish to blame it on your terrible misguidance…" Col. Tavington let the sentence hang with a sneer, covering for the emotional unease that threatened to silence him.

"My sins _have_ returned…" Martin continued in a cracked voice. "What am I to do when there is nothing to fight?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, sins this, sins _that_ ," William raised his voice gruffly, crossing his harms while he managed to stand still for almost a minute before tottering off balance. "So you're bloody marked. Right sod of a story you are, sobbing like a fool for your iniquities…"

Martin looked up, again meeting Tavington's gaze. The colonel still uneasy at the idea that his adversary _could_ , in fact _see_ him, taunted, "And what will you do now? Kill a ghost, hm?"

To his surprise, the colonial did not rise, but looked away and down at the officer's corpsified visage.

"We weren't so different..."

Tavington gaped.

"I'm sorry, _what_? _We_ weren't so different?... well, excuse _me_ if I'm proud not to smell like _you_ , rotting scum. Have a sense of your aesthetic dignity, will you?"

Martin continued to look down at his face

"This is the price I pay, at my worst…"

"Yes _yes_ , now stick me in the ground before I turn over from your blubbering nonsense!" the colonel ordered sharply.

To his chagrin, the colonial officer continued to pine, and it was all Tavington could to to keep from stalking up behind him to deliver a resounding slap to the back of his head.

"There's no bloody point if it won't even _sting_." He growled. "Oh, get up, will you?!" His last string of patience wore and the colonel stepped forward, pulling hard at the back of Martin's collar. The officer could feel the coarse linen of the cloth, but his hands slid right through it after the barest sensation of physical touch.

"What is that?"

William's attention was sharply drawn from Martin to his compatriot, whom he had almost forgotten was there.

"What?" Martin asked, looking around. "There's nothing here…"

"Except _him_ ," Dan Scott gestured at Tavington's corpse with dislike; the colonel bristled.

"And _your_ company is most desirable?..." he murmured under his breath, clenching his fists.

"Well, help me get him in, and then we can leave," Martin replied.

"All right," Scott answered with reluctance. "But hurry with it then. Wouldn't be surprised if he came back just for spite."


	6. Chapter 6

"Make that hole deeper," Tavington huffed, watching the two men working in uneasy silence. Dan Scott kept glancing at where the Dragoon officer stood but Martin paid no heed to the shade's presence. "I'm not bloody carrion."

"Go another foot deeper," Martin spoke over his shoulder, startling his comrade away from the colonel's leering.

"He just said that," Scott answered.

Martin shook his head, giving the man a sidelong glance.

" _who_ said that? I did…"

" _You_ did, but," Dan Scott Looked back in Tavington's direction but the officer had calmed enough to fade out of sight. "I guess it's just the heat. And he _Stinks_ ," Scott finished.

"Well, he's dead," Martin tried to keep the mood light. "And I'm sure you smell lovely yourself."

Scott chortled.

"Valid comment, I suppose. But I don't want to stay here. Gruel is sounding mighty fine right now."

"Give it twenty more minutes. If we're not finished by then, I'll let you go."

"Yes Sir," Scott nodded courteously.

Fifteen minutes later, Martin dismissed his corporal early and watched him leave before he turned to stand over the fresh packing of dirt that covered his enemy's grave.

"Still here?" he murmured, "The air isn't right…"

"Oh yes I'm _here_ ," Tavington grated, making a painful effort to remain even tempered.

"Go", Benjamin Martin's frame sagged, and he shook, fighting with the raw sting of too many thoughts left undefined and unresolved. "I have run my course with you. My debts ate paid."

" _Your_ debts?" Tavington's translucent form flickered, visible to the weary Colonial.

Martin's head snapped up and his eyes widened.

"Perhaps you might have still more to pay, hm?" the Dragoon pressed in a silky, silver-cold voice.

"You're _dead_. I just buried you…"

"I _know_ …" Tavington drawled, crinkling his brow in mock consternation. "Pity, though. Can't kill a dead man, can you?"

"No, I cannot." Benjamin's look of shock morphed quickly to confused anger and he turned to the fresh grave, pulling and ripping at the dirt in a mighty fit.

"The bloody _hell_ are you doing?" Tavington hollered, jumping forward, nearly falling in midair.

"Making sure you _stay_ dead!"

"Idiot!" The Dragoon shouted, becoming more vibrant as his temper climbed. "if you want me to _stay_ dead, then don't desecrate me!"

"And leave you a body?!" Martin replied, still unable to trust that he was talking to the remnant of his enemy.

"Yes, you fucking clot! How else am I supposed leave?" Tavington puffed up threateningly, so close to the colonel that he could almost feel the sweat on the man. "I'm sure you believe that it just tickles my fancy to spend my time _haunting_ you, pathetic, _tragic_ character that you are."

"You know _nothing_ of me!"

"Oh?" Tavington asked, raising a brow as his amusement , "Try me, then, _Ghost_. If we aren't so different, as you claim…"


	7. Chapter 7

"You _slaughtered_ my sons!" Benjamin yelled suddenly; Tavington picked boredly at his fingernails, taking care to maintain his balance.

"Very _astute_ observation," he answered, curling his mouth in bemusement. "You do forget, _sir, your_ younger son rushed my men in foolish, passionate desperation. Of course, I might have been a bit… _hard handed_ in my admonition, but I will stand by my assessment of his behavior." Tavington was positively leering, enjoying the moment all too much as his foe seethed, and all the more, for being unable to retaliate.

"He was just a boy-"

"And old enough to know what happens when you throw yourself in front of a loaded gun!" Tavington shot back. " _Stupid_ from the offing, and your older son was hardly brighter. He may have impressed me with his sheer longevity through that haphazard ambush, but just like the rest of _you_ , he left practicality for impulse and traded a musket for a _bootknife."_ William snorted disdainfully. "What a green little mistake…And whilst attacking a superior officer, no less."

"I see…" Martin was choking on his anger, his mouth and mind working furiously not to mutter any understanding toward Tavington's blunt observation. "And the church?"

"Well it did the job, did it not? If I couldn't find you in the woods, surely you'd come running if I burned up your safe-holdings."

"They were _innocent_ _people_!"

"They were _traitors_." Tavington replied disparagingly. "Each one deserved a noose, but we only had torches… and time was running short," he grinned wickedly, the full red of his jacket now visible to the rebel colonel.

"No, you _butchered_ women and children!"

"And _you_ bludgeoned and massacred an entire regiment of men who had _nothing_ to do with my actions on your pathetic little farm; these men were possibly husbands, sons and fathers, just as you are, yes?"

Benjamin grew quiet, and Tavington continued gleefully on.

"Perhaps, then, as I said before, we are not so dissimilar."

"No, I am _not_ like you!" Benjamin answered tightly, balling his fists.

"Make your case then," Tavington shrugged, "After that crazed bloodbath and then just watching how you fight like a wild savage, hacking away with the brutality a drunk axeman, I really think your rebuttal has little chance of changing my mind."

"But have you no _shame_ for what you've done?" Martin asked, trying vainly to ask a sensible question instead of letting his enemy dangle him for his own pleasure.

"Why?" The Dragoon colonel shrugged.

"Because to have any pride in it is nothing short of the worst, damnable acts."

William responded with silence, eying the Colonial with a hidden, icy stare, looking him over as if he were sizing up the best angle at which to strike wary prey. Finally, seeing an opening, he ambushed, with a slow, deliberate, methodic tone.

"I would think, sir, that it would be much worse to cower behind your acts, hide in the trees and assail like a common thief."

"It was a new tactic, and the only way we could be efficient-"

"Precisely!" Tavington cut in, gloating, "My case stands. New tactics, even those that prove _brutal_ , are necessary. My methods may be unorthodox and frightful to some, but you, a fellow soldier, and _officer_ , would surely understand that war breeds ingenuity, even at the cost and collateral of the innocent. Do you not agree?"

"Such a need for inventive methods does not prove them any less shameful." Benjamin answered. "One still has to answer for their sins."

"Yes," Tavington agreed, "And have you answered for yours?"

"I should ask _you_." Benjamin spoke. "I am here, alive, and you are here, but only as a shade, a _leftover_.

"But are you _alive_?" Tavington pressed. "Or do you merely walk while your soul rots with the others? You see, I may be physically dead, but I've not been sent one way or the other, which makes me wonder, which one of us is truly _forgiven_?"


	8. Chapter 8

Benjamin Martin stared, at a loss for a response as the shade of Col. Tavington grew ever more clear in its wolfish delight.

"You took my sons from me..." He repeated.

Tavington merely rolled his eyes and crossed his arms with an annoyed huff.

"Is that your bargaining chip then, hm? Use the death of your sons as good reason for your own personal flaws?"

"What do you know of my flaws?" Martin growled.

"Ah Colonel, so _very_ humble," Tavington could barely contain the laughter in his voice. "If I recall correctly, you've earned a very infamous reputation for your own... _ugly business_ -"

"The woods-"

"No no, not just that." The Dragoon grinned, now fully visible to his old adversary, "From what it appears, you've got your own litany of less-than-proper acts of war." Tavington finished, allowing a moment of drawn silence between himself and the Colonial before he continued his 'circling'. "I saw the bodies of the men you killed the day I ordered your son to be brought and hanged... I saw what _remained_ of them."

"And how does it compare to the hundreds of innocents _you_ took for _sport_?" Martin spat back. "The men I ambushed were _soldiers_ -"

"Mangled, _grotesquely killed_ ," William cut him off, "And you were careless enough to leave a _survivor_!"

"And you left _none._ Everyone suffered at your hands!"

"I was thorough," William replied with a careless shrug.

"No, you were _sadistic_..."

The corner of Tavington's mouth curled into a wicked smile.

"Of course, you would know all about that..."

Martin glared, confused as the Dragoon commander briefly faded from view.

"What are you talking about?" The Militiaman clenched his fists, uncomfortable that he had lost sight of the shadow.

William had not figured out why he suddenly returned to his invisible state but he enjoyed watching Benjamin Martin panic.

"Show yourself, Colonel!" Martin demanded. "You had no trouble taunting me earlier..."

A low rumble of laughter echoed upon a dying breeze, back to Benjamin's ears; Tavington remained invisible.

"Laugh then!" The Colonial retorted, turning his back to the Dragoon. "You're the one still answering for his transgressions!"

Figuring he had dangled the man long enough, William tried to remember how he had first made himself visible. It had occurred when his thoughts and emotions were running high, verging on recklessness, but having his visibility occur at such moments would be less than opportune. He needed to harness it... but Benjamin Martin was already leaving the woods.


End file.
